


Lo Stesso Tempo

by lganc



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Inspired by Music, Light Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders Has Terrible Parents, Logic | Logan Sanders-centric, Musicians, Platonic Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lganc/pseuds/lganc
Summary: Logan Berry and Roman Gold are equally ambitious and skilled pianists. Unfortunately, those ambitions are not necessarily compatible.





	Lo Stesso Tempo

Ms. Anne Berry had always wanted to be a musician, and when she grew up without achieving her aspirations, turned to trying to raise one. In her childhood daydreams, she entered a shining hall, hung with crystal chandeliers and gold sconces. A stage was set before a sea of black velvet chairs, upon which hundreds of elegant aristocrats sat on the edge of their seats in anticipation. On the stage was a sleek black grand piano. She walked out to ear-splitting applause and cheering, but the audience hushed immediately, eager to watch the virtuoso at work, when she placed her hands upon the keys.  


Those dreams turned to dust as she aged. She attended law school, became an attorney, worked so tirelessly she never had time for music. In her new dreams, the baby in her womb grew up to play sold-out shows in those beautiful halls to hordes of admirers in her stead, so that she could at least be at peace with her former ambitions.  


In that spirit, she had selected a wonderful name to encourage her future child’s musical inclination. It that of many great composers, graceful, and refined. Clunky, awkward, unexceptional Logan was not the name she would have chosen for her child, but her husband insisted on it. The Berrys had been bickering over this since they found out she was pregnant. It was practically routine.

Ms. Berry would list off notable musicians who bore her chosen name. (“All I’m saying is that it has a fantastic musical significance.”)

Mr. Berry would argue for his family’s honor. (“And Logan has a wonderful familial significance. My grandfather was a--”)

She would dismiss this argument every time but the first. (“Yes, yes,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You’ve given me your little spiel already.)

He would point out what an absurd name it was. (“We cannot name our son Johann.”

“And why not?”

“Are you kidding? You’re going to get him bullied!”

“Johann is an excellent name. No one in their right mind would mock it.”

“They’re kids!” Mr. Berry threw up his hands. “None of them are in their right minds!”)

Then the two would stalk off to their respective ends of the house and not speak to each other until dinner, upon which they would smile and nod politely as if nothing had happened.

~

The Golds went grocery shopping every week, just a walk to the store with a list of items they had to buy. Roman was in charge of keeping track of what they had in the cart. Tomatoes, check, chicken, check. He pointed out that it would be much easier to lug the bags back home if they took the car and didn’t have to carry all the bags, but his mama insisted it was barely half a mile, and besides, they had to get their steps in somehow.

It was a path they’d tread many times before, but this time, there was something unfamiliar in the way. Well, not in the way. Even though it was on the sidewalk, it was pushed near the entrance of the nearest shop, leaving a wide berth for pedestrians to pass by. It was new, nonetheless. Roman jabbed his mama’s arm. “Look!”

She glanced down, amused. “Yes?”

“Why is there a piano on the road?” He had only ever seen them in movies. They were huge, glossy black, and, according to his moms, expensive, so even though this one was brown wood and hardly in mint condition, he couldn’t fathom why it would be left out in the elements.

“It’s a public piano, darling,” explained his other mom. “There’s a music shop right here,” she said, pointing to a sign reading SANDERS MUSIC. “They’re probably the ones who put it out here. People just put them out in the open so anyone can play them.”

“Anyone?”

"Yes, anyone. Do you want to play?”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!” He plopped down on the bench and pressed down on a key. Roman’s breath hitched. He pressed it again, just to listen to that sound. It sang out over the street like sunlight, bright and brassy and warm. He looked up at his moms.

His mama smiled. “Go on.”

He plunked the key below it, and then the one below that. His head shot up, and he replayed the keys, stuttering his way through “Mary Had a Little Lamb”. “Look, mom!”

“Lovely, Ro,” his mom said, ruffling his hair. He beamed.

"Hey, that was pretty neat!” A brunet man with multiple black cases strapped to his back and dangling off his arms jogged up to them. “You’re a natural.”

Roman rolled the word over in his head in delight. He was a natural. “Thank you!”

“Of course!” He held out a hand to his moms. “I’m Thomas. I own the shop.” His mom shook his hand. “The piano was a new idea my friend pitched, and I wasn’t sure about it at first, but it’s really been a hit so far!”

Roman jumped up from the bench. “You own the store?”

“Yep! Family business.”

“Mama, can we get a piano?”

She chuckled softly. “Honey, those are expensive.”

“How expensive? I have a lot of money saved.”

His mom smiled sadly. “A lot more than what’s in your piggy bank.”

"But I wanna learn!”

His mom flushed red and turned away from Thomas. “Those are expensive too, darling,” she explained.

Roman’s eyes stung. “How much--”

“A lot more than we can afford.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Your moms are right,” he said when they looked over. “Lessons and pianos cost a lot of money. It’s not a decision to be made lightly. But,” he continued quickly when Roman’s face fell, “I teach group piano lessons at most schools in this area. If you want to go to our school for details, they can give you a registration form. Most are held after school hours, but it’s completely free.”

“Can I go?” Roman pleaded. “Please?”

“I don’t know--” his mom began.

His mama shushed her. “I think we’ll be doing that soon,” she said brightly. “Thank you so much for the information, Mr. Sanders.”

“Of course. Always happy to help.”

“Thank you.” His mom nodded after a moment, then took Roman with one hand and her wife with the other. “Let’s go get some bread, huh?”

Roman skipped all the way to the supermarket and back. He couldn’t wait for school to start.

~

There was a specific story his mom particularly enjoyed telling, and would to anyone who would listen, from relatives at dinner to total strangers in the audience. As she told it, while pregnant, she had purchased a CD of classical music off a website that proclaimed the amazing effects of prenatal musical immersion on later intelligence and academic performance. She played it daily against her belly. A few months later, Logan Johann Berry was born, and at the ripe young age of six, he began playing the piano, beginning his transformation into the gifted musician he was today.

His mom liked to leave out the part when every major news source in the country debunked the website’s claim and she was delivered a ten-dollar refund alongside a note of apology. Once, Logan had chimed in with this fact while his mother told the story to an audience member at one of his recitals and received nervous laughter and a death glare in return. He never attempted it again after the incident. He supposed it somewhat diminished the dramatic effect of the story.

Regardless, it was at this age, during the lesson, that he met Roman. His mother had enrolled him in the after-school program’s piano lessons as soon as she heard. The teacher, Mr. Sanders, had left briefly for the restroom. Before he left, he instructed them to practice playing a C scale using the method they learned--tucking under their thumbs to play F. Logan had already mastered this technique, but supposed a bit of practice couldn’t hurt.

Out of curiosity, he glanced over to the child seated in the middle of the bench and frowned. He had decided to play the first five notes with his left hand and the last three with his right, going against Mr. Sanders’s explicit instructions. “Hey,” he said, “You’re doing it wrong.”

The boy glanced over at him, shrugged, and played the scale again.

"No, like this,” he supplied helpfully, giving a short demonstration. C, D, E, tuck, F.

The other shrugged again.

Irritation growing, he pointed out, “You can’t do it like that, it makes no sense.”

“Yeah it does.”

“No, it doesn’t. What if you wanted to play two different things? You’d need one hand for both.”

“Maybe I have four hands,” he contested.

“Hey, guys, maybe--” the boy on the other end of the bench interrupted.

“No, you don’t.”

“Don’t be mean--”

“How do you know? You’ve never seen them.”

“Because you can’t have four hands, that’s not how people work!”

“Please, can we--”

“Maybe I’m not a person, then! Ooooooooh!” he said, wiggling his fingers.“Maybe I’m an alien!”

“That’s not what aliens say, that’s ghosts--”

“Whoa, whoa, okay!” Mr. Sanders stood between them, holding out his hands cautiously. “Let’s break it up, alright?”

Logan looked down, picking at the keys. “Sorry,” he muttered, but his gut was still boiling. He was just trying to help.

“Mr. Sanders?”

“Yes, Roman?”

“Is this right?” And he proceeded to play the scale in his completely, totally, utterly, infuriatingly wrong way, topped off with a triumphant sneer at Logan when he finished it. That halfwit. Logan dug his nails into the bench.

Mr. Sanders’s face twisted. “Well. That was certainly…”

The two boys looked at him expectantly.

“Well. Hm. And how are you doing?” He turned his attention to the child on the other end of the bench.

Logan grumbled. He was right! And he was just trying to help! Why wouldn’t Roman, or Dolan, or Rolan, or whatever his name was just take his advice when he was clearly the correct one?

The lesson ended, and the three children filed out to be picked up by their parents. On the drive home, his mom asked, “So how was it?”

"Good--”

“How were the other kids? Did you do well?”

“Better than the other boy. He wasn’t doing it right, and he didn’t even listen when I tried to help him!”

“Oh, really?” His mom was more than happy to commiserate, seeming positively ecstatic at the news of his classmate’s failure.

~

Roman practically floated off the stage as the next act was announced, unable to keep the triumphant beam off his face. He had killed his rendition of the Moonlight Sonata, chosen specifically to outdo Logan, who was always being praised for the beauty of his pieces. Well, see him try to beat a piece so lovely it reminded a critic of “moonlight on Lake Lucerne”.  
His moms and Mr. Sanders had thought it was pretty, too--they were all smiles while he practiced it on the piano in the music shop. And the whole audience applauded a little more enthusiastically after his performance, too. Certainly more than they had for the parrot trainer and that kid who had just hula-hooped for ten minutes straight. So, admittedly, the bar was low. But that meant he had just set it higher--so high that Logan couldn’t even dream of touching it with the barest brush of his hands. Actually, maybe he’d gotten some of the notes wrong--he hadn’t had lessons since a few years ago, before the after-school program was discontinued--but no one would be able to tell unless they’d memorized the whole piece. He was satisfied. That talent show trophy was his.

The act was dismissed to dim applause--some kid with an instrument that looked like a giant violin? How weird--and Logan started heading to the stage. Roman clapped slowly, not bothering to stifle a sneer when Logan passed by his chair. What was going to upstage the Moonlight Sonata? His precious scales couldn’t help him now. The announcer told the audience the name of the piece he was playing, and Roman’s smirk widened. What on Earth was “Shoe-bert” and his impromptus? More like Snooze-bert.

Logan began playing and the audience fell silent. He laughed quietly, earning himself a jab in the ribs from his neighbor. This was Logan’s piece? It barely had anything beyond a basic melody! And there was so much repetition--had he learned anything beyond a couple lines? Anyone could play that. He leaned back in his chair. And here he’d thought he’d get more of a fight. Then, his eyes widened and he nearly fell off his seat.

What-- How was-- It couldn’t be. Was Logan playing a two-against-three rhythm? It was so difficult! Whenever Roman tried to do that, his right hand kept trying to catch up to his left and he would end up with a mess of ugly, clashing notes. Roman could never get that right. Never. But apparently Logan could. He ground his teeth. Before he knew it, Logan’s performance was over. He smirked back at Roman as he walked past.

Roman’s heart dropped even lower when the winner was announced. Hint: he got a participation award.

~

Roman was a high-school heartbreaker, although not in the traditional sense. At his last performance, he got the entire audience bawling into their neighbors’ shoulders. He played with incredible expression, drawing tears of joy and sorrow alike from his listeners, filling them with every emotion possible, from anger to flights of fanciful passion.When Logan played, people just clapped. He hated Roman for it, but there was a sliver of him--which he shoved safely into the back of his brain, because Mom always said he couldn’t afford distractions--that admired it.  
Logan’s strength was in technique. He had spent countless hours studying Czerny and Hanon, scribbling reminders on all of his pieces, drilling even the shortest measures ruthlessly if he felt there was the tiniest imperfection. It would have to be enough. It had to. There was only one pianist spot in the entire orchestra, and Logan was determined to claim it as his own. His mom had done nothing but encourage his hard work, and the look in her eyes when he told her he wanted to play for the orchestra was so bright he feared his whole world might go dark if it disappeared.

He happened to be directly after Roman in the audition order. Roman eyed him up and down as he approached. “What are you doing here, oper-awful?”

He rolled his eyes. “That makes no sense. I don’t even sing.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Auditioning, like you. Although, on second thought, hopefully nothing like you. I don’t want to play remotely like the guy who’s probably going to try to “Moonlight Sonata” the judges to death again.”

“Is that so, Moz-fart?”

“How juvenile.”

The doors swung open. The student who had just auditioned was smiling broadly until he saw the two death-glaring at each other. “Um. How are we?”

Roman sniffed haughtily. “Well, I’d better get in. Don’t want to be late.”

“Good luck!” the boy called. He turned to Logan as he walked down the hallway. “And to you too!”

Roman disappeared behind the double doors of the audition room, but not before Logan caught a glimpse of his piece. “Papillons.” A common nickname for one of Chopin’s etudes--a rather easy one, at that. Sure, choosing Chopin was playing to his strengths, but Logan thought he’d play something more difficult. Not that he was complaining.

He peered in through the window, and it was only then he realized that what Roman was playing looked nothing like the etude. His stomach twisted and he ducked away from the window. Of course it was the other Papillons--the notoriously difficult piece by Schumann, so difficult that some parts as short as a few measures were learned as separate pieces.  
Roman came out two minutes later. “How’s that for juvenile?” He brushed off his shoulder. Logan didn’t respond. “Good luck. You might need it.”

Logan lied to his mom for the rest of the year.

~

The New York State Musician’s Association’s annual charity recital was about the great cause they were fundraising for--bringing music education to more schools. And of course Roman cared about that! How could he not? Having a proper music education certainly would have helped in his endeavors as a pianist. However, it was undeniably also about victory, and glory, and basking in the light of the aforementioned. He, like every other reasonable musician in the room, was vying for the Junior Musician Recognition Award, the most prestigious music award for high school students in the tri-state area. The orchestra position was fantastic, as was passing the audition and performing at the recital, period and he was wholly glad he’d earned those opportunities. But this was something to finally prove his talent, the central gem in his crown of achievements. And the fact that he could lord it over Logan didn’t hurt, either.

Logan was the current performer, playing something Roman didn’t recognize. The audience whispered to each other in hushed, pointing out a particularly good bit. He rolled his eyes. Wasn’t speaking during a performance supposed to be rude? He poked the contestant--excuse him, performer--next to him, a Victor or something who went to his high school. Roman distantly recalled him playing cello in the back of the orchestra. “What do you think of that guy?”

Victor jumped. “W-what?”

“What do you think?”

“I--who are you?”

“Roman? The orchestra pianist?” he said impatiently.

“Oh. Yeah.” He glanced at the stage. “He’s good. Is that Bach?”

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Victor raised his eyebrows. “Whoa, dude, chill. I was just asking.”

Roman closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. I’m in my happy place. I’m in my happy place… “Right. Sorry,” he muttered and turned back to the performance.

“Well, what about you?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you think he’s good?”

Roman looked back to the stage. Logan’s posture was perfectly straight, elbows perfectly out, every note perfectly hit. The longer he watched, the more impressed he was. Ugh. His playing was technically flawless. His fingers flowed over the keys as easily as water. Every movement was deliberate but delicate, gliding like a figure skater. He made everything he played look elegant and effortless. Maybe, Roman realized, that was why he had always underestimated him. What had really gone into making the masterpiece before him? How devoted was Logan to his craft that he had this kind of skill?

“Well?” Victor prompted.

"He’s fine,” Roman spat, a bit louder than he intended.

Victor cringed when the people sitting behind them glared. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“He’s fine,” he said, lowering his voice. “Just. Fine.”

The piece concluded with a final chord and he bowed, catching Roman’s gaze across the room. Roman suddenly became very invested in adjusting the buttons of his shirt.

Logan was not fine. He was good. He was a good musician. Really good. Great, even. And also… He swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek. He’d studied his piece for so long. Even if he wasn’t as talented as Logan, at least he could fake it with his hard work. His effort had to mean something. It couldn’t be for naught.

His turn was approaching. He adjusted his buttons shakily, hands damp and clammy, and made his way up to the stage. The crowd applauded politely. The announcer was calling his name and piece. The stage was empty, the keys alien on his fingertips, unwelcoming and cold as ice. He shook his head, trying to focus. Focus. It would not be for naught.

Well.

He admitted it to himself.

And also, Logan was better than him.

~

Logan was still swooning from the adrenaline. He was certain he’d messed up the trills--his hands kept slipping off the keys, and his heart thundered faster just thinking of it. But there was no use worrying about that now. He took a deep breath and glanced over at his parents. His mom was grinning broadly, nudging the person next to her, mouthing “That was my son!” He exhaled. It was done. Finally.

The boy next to him seemed even more anxious, bouncing his leg and fidgeting with the edges of his blazer and his tie. “Are you alright?” he asked.

The boy looked over and gave a nervous chuckle, wiping his forehead. “I’m going next so… Whoo. Stage jitters.” His eyes lit up with recognition. “Hey, don’t we go to the same school?” He stuck out his hand. “Patton Baker.”

He shook it. Patton’s hand was damp, and Logan tried to wipe it on his pants discreetly after he let go. “Logan Berry.” He frowned. They were supposed to perform in alphabetical order. “Shouldn’t you have gone already?”

“Oh, no. I’m doing a duet, and my partner’s all the way over there.” He pointed down the aisle.

“Neat. What are you playing?”

“Oh, just a little--hey! Isn’t that the orchestra pianist?”

Roman was onstage. Logan’s gut clenched. “Yeah.”

“Is that Chopin?”

Yes, it was. One of his waltzes--A-flat major, if he wasn’t mistaken. Roman evoked joy perfectly, of course. But he didn’t look the part--actually, he looked rather downcast. Logan always thought he just played what he felt, but that couldn’t possibly be what was happening here. Now he realized how well thought-out his interpretations were, down to the most minute detail. Roman played with skillful subtlety. The tactful shift between staccato and legato, delicately plucked highs and elongated lows evoked grand, golden, glowing joy perfectly. Even when he was miserable, Roman was happier than Logan had ever been. Logan never stood a chance next to someone like him.

~

All the musicians had performed, but Roman hadn’t paid attention to any of them. He’d been too busy wrestling with the thought. Logan was better than him. He imagined Logan snickering with the other orchestra kids after tricking Roman into thinking he had even an ounce of talent, watching him parade around and brag while knowing the whole time what an absolute moron he was. His eyes stung. His heart sank.

"Folks, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

Roman glanced up.

“All of the young musicians here tonight are extraordinarily talented, and we celebrate that with the Junior Musician Recognition Award!”

Applause.

The announcer cleared his throat. “This award is given annually to one student or performing group to celebrate those who have shown themselves to be valuable members of their musical communities as well as exceptional artists.”

Roman tried to hone in on what the announcer was saying but just slumped back into his seat. Come on, Roman! Isn’t this what you’ve been working for? This was what he wanted. A chance to prove he belonged here with everyone else, that his relentless dedication had paid off somehow. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel like he had before.

~

Valuable members of their communities. Logan would have laughed if he wasn’t afraid of disturbing the anticipating hush that had fallen over the crowd. All his music was just him, holed up in his room, ignoring everyone else so he could...what? So he could keep his mom happy? So he could have a reason to feel superior to everyone else? He didn’t think he qualified as a team player.

~

And what if he got the award? How would that feel? He wanted to get out of the room and never have to know the answer. He was afraid the award would make him feel exactly what he had wanted it to.

~

How much of this was because he enjoyed it? There was a time when he loved music, right? Wasn’t there?

~

He was also afraid of feeling nothing. That everything really would have been for naught.

~

“Would Patton Baker and Virgil Grayson please come to the stage?”

He clapped as Patton, a surprised but ecstatic grin on his face, joined Virgil on the stage to accept their certificates. The audience applauded, and then they were dismissed.

When he got home, he took a step back to examine himself. He felt...fine. He wasn’t upset about the award. He was worried about his mom, though. The car ride home had been spent in silence. He tried to glimpse how she was doing, but each facial feature had been carefully schooled to stony neutrality the whole way. Other than that, he felt oddly calm. Relieved, even. He collapsed on the bed, trying to bury himself in the mattress.

He thought about the piano against the wall of his bedroom. His mom had bought it when he was ten and proved that it would be worth the investment. The piano, new sheet music, lessons, audition fees--it all felt like she was giving a gift to herself. He had always wanted to put a bookshelf there.

What he had thought earlier. That there was a time when he had loved the piano. If he dug deep inside himself, he could find what something that resembled it--the satisfaction of a perfect run-through, the intense concentration that overtook him while learning a piece, the relief that came with the end of a recital or the ecstatic look on his mom’s face after he played. Piano was just another part of his routine. He couldn’t find so much as an ounce of himself that played just for playing’s sake.

~

The most talking they got to was arguing during an audition. They never had a proper, civil conversation until a few days after the recital. A knock came at the door while Roman was wrapping up his practice. He got up from the bench and opened it. “Oh. Hi.”

Logan nodded. “Hello. Um, can I come in?”

“Uh--”

“I-if you don’t, I understand completely. I wouldn’t like for my practice to be interrupted either, I just didn’t know where to find you, but the sign on the door outside said this room was reserved for you, so I figured I may as well take my chances.”

“I was going to say sure.”

“Oh.”

A moment passed before Roman stepped to the side. “Come on in.”

Logan closed the door and seated himself at a desk near the piano. Roman faced him. “What’s up?”

“I…” Roman saw his throat move as he swallowed. “We’ve never spoken.”

“Yeah…”

“And I just wanted to say. You were really good. You are really good, actually. Duets aside, you were the best person there.”

Roman scanned him for any sign of snark, but he seemed genuine. “Oh.”

“No, w-wait.” He took a deep breath. “Your technique is good. But your dedication and love for your music really shines through. You just...blow life into everything you play. I can’t imagine how meticulous you are.”

“I… Oh.”

“Actually, how did you go about learning the Papillons a couple years ago? That was very impressive. I’ve never tried to learn them, but I’ve been meaning to.”

Roman straightened. He could talk music. This was much more familiar territory. “I just picked a couple pages to learn,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Seriously? That’s it? No other tricks or methods?”

“If there are such things, I don’t know them.”

“Really? None of that? Your teacher didn’t teach you how to drill a piece?”

“I don’t have an instructor.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re self-taught?”

“The last lesson I took was that program in elementary school.”

“Wow.” He stared at Roman, wide-eyed and quiet.

“I just practice a lot, I guess.”

“Do you usually do that here?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. When the room isn’t available, I usually go down to this music shop. The owner lets me use the piano there.”

“That’s incredible, Roman,” he said softly. “Sincerely.”

Roman’s face flushed with heat, and he looked away, chuckling. “Well, you’re not bad yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“No problemo.” He stuck out a hand.

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to give you a handshake.”

“Why?”

“You seem like the handshake type. Now. C’mon.”

He rolled his eyes but shook his hand. “Anyway, I’m glad that Patton and Virgil got the award. I’ve seen them perform together before the recital. They’re quite a duo.”

He braced himself, but the mention of the recital didn't hurt him like he expected it to. His loss wasn't nearly as harrowing as he'd expected. After giving up on being better than Logan, it ceased to matter to him, but even now that he was feeling better, it didn't affect him. A part of him was even glad to have avoided the potential conflict after Patton and Victor-- He gasped. “Virgil!”

“What?”

“I just remembered, I’ve been calling him Victor for a year!”

Logan snorted. “And he never noticed?”

“I guess not? I should apologize!”

“Yes, you should,” Logan snorted.

Roman grinned. “You know, we could be quite a duo as well. With your talent and my dashing good looks, we’d be unstoppable.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’re talented--” he began.

Roman had already stood up, striking a dramatic pose that sent Logan into another laughing fit. “Maybe that’s why the universe made us rivals. Our combined gifts would be too powerful.”

“Rivals? I wouldn’t go as far as that, there are tons of pianists at this school.”

“But how many are on par with you and I? The brightest of our age?” Roman tucked his sheet music under his arm.

“I--I can’t say I know,” he stuttered as he was tugged to his feet. “Quite a pair we’d make,” he mused.

“Dynamic!” Roman punched a fist in the air.

“ _Vivace_ ,” he suggested.

“That doesn’t alliterate.”

Logan laughed, and Roman along with him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. And he could use someone to talk music with.

~

It became a regular occurrence for Logan to visit after school while Roman was practicing. However, Roman didn’t always practice in the same location. After walking a few blocks, they entered Sanders Music, the bell on the door dinging brightly. Logan glanced around. It would have been small to begin with, but the instruments and accessories adorning the walls furthered that effect. He watched his surroundings warily and stepped gingerly, hoping with all of his pounding heart he didn’t knock something over. His mother would not be happy if she had to pay a damage fine. Despite the worry-inducing surroundings, Roman strode in, spun around, and, with a flourish of his hand, announced “Welcome to the birthplace of my musical career.”  
_What a place to begin._ “It’s…” He hesitated, trying to pick through his words carefully.

Roman rolled his eyes fondly, clapping him on the back. “I know it’s cramped. And a bit stuffy. And probably not as fancy as what most musicians are used to, but this is really a place of magic. The kind of magic that turns a clueless little boy with nothing but fantasies of being extraordinary”--he placed a hand over his heart--“into a man with ambition and skill. Plus, Mr. Sanders is super chill.”

“Wait.” The name sounded familiar. Logan scoured his memory for it. “Mr. Sanders from elementary school?”

“Indeed!”

“Oh, no.”

He frowned. “What? Did I say--”

“No, no, it’s not you. I was just...absolutely insufferable as a child.”

"Technically, you’re still a child.”

"I suppose I could still be insufferable now and not know it. Am I?”

“A little.”

“Thanks."

“No problemo, andanti-nerd.”

“That wasn’t one of your better ones.”

“It certainly wasn’t,” he agreed. Roman pulled out the piano bench, sat, and rummaged through his bookbag, presumably for his sheet music. “So, what’re you learning now?”

“Me?” Logan said.

“I don’t see anyone else here.”

“Well, I haven’t really decided on a piece,” he admitted. “I think my mom’s still really upset after I didn’t...you know. With the award. So I’m trying to find something she’ll think more impressive and appropriate for a performance of that magnitude.”

“What do you want to play?”

His stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

Roman looked at him, deadpan, and stopped rustling his papers. “As in, what have you heard lately and thought, ‘Hey, that’s cool, I want to play it’?”

He looked away and shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright,” he said, and resumed, shuffling his sheet music and placing it on the stand. “Okay. You’re really into technical stuff, right? You seem like the type.”

“I guess?”

“So what’s your practice situation like?” He barely disguised a chuckle, turning his head away to face the piano. “Do you have, like, a schedule? A timer so you can make sure you do exactly an hour, or whatever? I bet you don’t move around as much as I do.”

“I guess not,” he muttered, picking at a loose string on his shirt. “My piano is in my room, so I stay pretty stationary.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “You have a piano in your bedroom?”

“Yeah. Against one of the walls.”

His jaw dropped even further and gasped, reeling back. “You what? Nobody puts a grand piano in the corner!”

“Baby grand.”

“Regardless! I can’t believe you have an actual piano and you just...shove it in a spot like that.” His voice was tinged with bitterness. “Totally ruins the acoustics.”

“I...suppose.” Logan knew the physics of sound, but to be honest, ruining the acoustics had never really crossed his mind. Maybe he just didn’t care enough to realize that would be an effect. He took a deep breath, leaning against the wall for support. “Can I tell you something?” he said quietly.

“Sure.” His irritation softened.

“I don’t...I don’t believe I want to continue playing.”

“Whoa, what? Is this because of that stupid recital?” Roman stood up, his sheets swept off the stand in his wake. “Because you should know, they totally got that wrong. You were by far the best person there. I don’t see how--”

“No, it’s not--it’s not that. I just...I don’t know.” He sighed, glaring at the floor. “I don’t really...like. It. That much.”

“Then why would you do it for so long?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Roman gave him a knowing look.

“I--I guess. My mom. She really wanted me to…” He trailed off. He hated stuttering, how unsure he was of his words.

“Seriously, is it the award? Because you have serious talent, and it would be so wasteful to just throw it away like that--”

“No!” It came out louder than he intended. Roman flinched. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m--sorry. I just… I don’t know. Why do you play?”

“What?”

“Why do you play?” he repeated.

Roman blew out a long exhale. “I guess...I love it, but it’s not just that. It’s like a part of my identity. If someone took that away from me, I don’t know what I would be.”

Logan stared at the ceiling. “I don’t feel that way. I don’t think I ever have.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

He nodded.

“What’s your mom going to say?”

“I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought that far. “I don’t think I’m going to break it to her yet. What with the recital having happened so recently, it wouldn’t be an ideal situation.”

“Well. Whatever you decide, I...support you.” He leaned over awkwardly and patted Logan on the shoulder. “You’re actually pretty cool when you’re not, you know, roasting my taste in music--”

“Gee, thanks.”

“--and you’ll continue being really cool without the piano. It’s not a part of you. You don’t need it to be anything. You’re just...really good on your own.”

Logan swallowed thickly. His eyes stung, and he willed himself to hold back tears. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Roman smiled warmly. Logan's lips curved in response.

It was impossible for Logan to know what would come next. How his mother would react, whether or not he and Roman could be friends given their history. But for now, it was nice to be here, enjoying the company of someone who was willing to move at his same pace.

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty! This is my first Sanders Sides fic, and the first fic I've ever posted in a public space, so please don't murder me if they're super out-of-character or some parts are super rushed or whatever. (Which they are, lmao.) But I really enjoyed writing this, so I decided to post it anyway, because that's the only way to ~grow~ and whatnot. Have a nice day! :)


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